A Flame Run Wild

by Christine Monson

  "Just as Derek Flanchard was lying? I wonder if you even know truth from lies any longer! Our marriage has been filled with deception from the beginning! I can believe nothing you say! Louis, at least, is consistent!"

  "Louis is full of malice! He would like to see both of us miserable."

  "Well, he is certainly getting half his wish. You used Charles; why should you not try to use Louis?"

  "I did not use Charles and certainly not in the way you imply! He wanted only to help you—"

  "No," Alexandre said harshly, "that is not all he wanted, and you know it. You are still lying, Liliane." He shook his head in disgust. "Why do you care what I think? I am carrying enough iron to weigh an elephant. I cannot interfere with you now. You have damned us all, and be damned to you."

  Her eyes stinging with tears of indignation, Liliane started to lash back at him, then she abruptly held her tongue. To try to vindicate herself when he was so furious was pointless. She could not reproach him for his anger, but his lack of faith in her hurt her greatly. She had never thought that he could turn against her after Acre; par Dieu, she was wrong!

  She must give both of them time to calm down, to remember that love, not lies, had been the foundation of their marriage. The loss of Castle de Brueil, their responsibility for so many innocent people whose lives would be ruined, weighed upon them too heavily now to incite bitterness and frustration. "I will not quarrel with you, Alexandre," she said unevenly. "I only ask you to listen to your heart; that, at least, has never lied to you. If we are to get out of this, we must work together."

  "That request," he retorted, "is a bit belated. The men who lie dead because they believed in you would offer you now a round of hollow laughter. As for me, the greatest fool of them all, say that I have learned prudence at last. Go to hell, milady, or wherever you like, but get out of my sight!"

  Liliane's nails dug hard into her palms. "I shall go, sir; but anon, I shall return. Perhaps you will come to reason in the interim!"

  Alexandre heard the door slam behind her, and a profound silence fell about the room. He could scarcely mink for anger. This was his home, where his mother and sister had lived their short lives in simple decency. Liliane was as different from his mother as the flaring, brilliant sun was the moon. She had never seemed suited to this quiet place, and, now she had ruined its peace forever. The events of the past few days, Signe faces with Liliane's among them, the bodies he knew had fallen in the castle's seizure—all whirled in his mind. Liliane scheming with Jacques while she wore an innocent flower crown of Love and Beauty, smiling up at Charles, rolling in bed with Louis. . . .

  But Liliane had not betrayed him; she had not, had not . . . his mind was screaming with torment. Why would she defend him in Palestine, only to destroy him now? So you would trust her, the demons of despair hissed. So that you would finally trust her enough to let her take your fief from under your nose. Besotted fool!

  Alexandre could feel his doubts subsiding even as he decried Liliane. If she had lost Castle de Brueil, she lost it for love, for me. She could be Hecuba herself and I would love her. He threw his head back. Liliane, return! Tell me any lie save that you love me!

  He waited for her until dusk, but Jacques was the first to come. Alone, the fat baron ambled laboriously into the room, closing the door and peering up at Alexandre benevolently. "Do not be concerned, my dear Alexandre, I have not come to gloat. If your confinement were left utterly to me, I would have those uncomfortable shackles unlocked, but Louis has a plebian nature. He refuses to give you run of the castle, and until you prove your trustworthiness, I must agree to his demand. Would you care for brandy wine?"

  "And miss the excitement of being drowned off a boat?" Alexandre retorted dryly.

  Jacques swirled the contents of the wine pitcher. "Oh, I would not poison you at this early date. I do not wish to kill you at all. King Philip is much too fond of you. Louis, unfortunately, misses that point, but your wife is much more astute. As you may have heard, she has been a great help to me."

  "So I gather," Alexandre replied tautly.

  "But I wonder if you gather just how much?" Jacques mused as he poured wine for himself. He sniffed the wine, then drew a tame mouse from his sleeve and offered it a sip from the goblet. He smiled at Alexandre's sardonic expression. "You know Louis's impulsiveness." He watched the mouse run up and down his sleeve, then take another sip, its whiskers dripping. In a few moments, it settled unsteadily in the crook of Jacques's arm. He stroked it. "Asleep, the drunken mite. Not all mice have a taste for liquor, but this little fellow is quite a tippler." He sat upon the bed and casually quaffed the wine. "Your wife has been just as reliable in her way. We have been in regular communication since your marriage, and actually sometime before that, while she was married to Diego del Pinal. Thanks to Liliane's cooperation, his death was quite profitable to us."

  Alexandre's head jerked up in disbelief. "She helped you kill Diego?"

  "Old men should never marry young women; there, I have been sensible. Youth grows restless and, in Liliane's case, ambitious. You have noticed her love of freedom, her willfulness and strength? Not an obedient girl, that one. Mercifully, Diego never knew what happened that day she went riding with him. Mind you, I am not saying she killed him; no shred of proof indicated that it was anything but an accident. But"—he smiled— ''it was convenient.''

  "For all of you," Alexandre rejoined curtly.

  "Oh, yes," Jacques said softly. "As your death will be if you do not cooperate with us. I want more than your signature on a piece of parchment to confirm my succession to this fief; any butcher could force that out of you. I want your public and verbal agreement to my succession at Aries, and I would prefer that you look hale and hearty for the ceremony."

  Alexandre's eyes narrowed. "And you are leaving my persuasion to Liliane."

  "Put gently, her life and your son's depend upon your persuasion. I need you; however, I do not need her . . . grateful though I am." He sipped his wine. "Trade Liliane for your life, my boy. She is a veritable scorpion. Whatever she breeds will live to turn on you. If you really want the child, I shall see that you get it, but I doubt if you will thank me in the end." He drained the goblet and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "For now, play her game if you do not wish to end like Diego. But thwart my niece and she just might love you to death." He rose, adjusting his sleeve so the mouse would not fall out, and waddled to the door.

  Louis waited for Jacques at the foot of the tower stairs. "What was that all about? Did Brueil agree?"

  "No, of course he did not agree," Jacques replied calmly, "but would it not be interesting if he killed his wife for consorting with the king?"

  Louis frowned in puzzlement as he 'absently swung a terrified Kiki by the neck chain fastened to his belt. "So you've been putting nasty ideas in his head. I thought you were saving Liliane for Philip."

  "I am, but if she proves unreliable and ready to carry tales to his majesty, we might do well to turn her into a more flexible chess piece. Philip would not likely come to the aid of a liegeman who had publicly branded him an adulterer."

  Louis let the choking monkey drop to the floor and speculatively watched her try to catch her breath. "Might not Brueil murder Liliane prematurely? He has an unpredictable temper."

  "Either way we are safe." Jacques patted Louis's shoulder. "Goad Alexandre from time to time in your inimitable way, Nephew, he will soon jump at anyone's throat."

  * * *

  That night, Liliane returned uneasily to the tower chamber. A shaft of moonlight slanted across Alexandre's face; he was looking at her as if she had transformed into a spider. With a slight shiver, she lit the candle on the table, then noticed the empty goblet and guessed who had encouraged Alexandre's loathing. "Louis has been back to taunt you again?"

  "Jacques. He was most informative." Alexandre's teeth bared in a feral snarl. "You have been his spy from the first, have you not?"

  "I worked with him. I had to—"


  He cut her off. "You never seem to have choices, milady wife. Diego was your supposed reason for first 'working' with Jacques"—the shackles rattled as he jerked forward—"only you killed Diego."

  Now she understood what vile accusations Jacques had made. She took a ragged breath. "In a way, I did kill Diego. Jacques threatened to assassinate him unless I—"

  "I do not want to hear it," he hissed as if his head ached. "I have heard and seen too damned much of late. From now on, just stay away from me."

  "You demand the truth of me," Liliane cried, "and when I give it, you will not listen! What right have you to assume my guilt when the proof is offered by such a perfidious monster as my uncle? You are even ready to believe that I would dishonor myself with Charles and, heaven forbid, with Louis! My real sin was that I gambled and lost Castle de Brueil! My sin is against the dead! If I must lose you for my sins, I will shoulder the punishment, but I will not survive your lack of faith in me. In Acre, I paid for your trust with my blood. If I have lied to you, those lies were bred of your perpetual suspicion. ..."

  "Why do you think I left the castle to you?" he cut in. "I left that you might know once and for all that I trusted you with my lands, my people, my life. What would you have me think when I returned to find my wife at the right hand of my mortal enemy? Even Jacques and Louis do not trust you!"

  "I care nothing for serpents who would attack their own tails"—Liliane caught the chain at his wrist—"but to be struck repeatedly by my own husband is intolerable. You think me venomous? So be it." Her head lifted defiantly. "I will play the serpent for you. I will turn your blood into a burning river in your veins until you call me witch! As I beguiled Charles and Louis, so I will torment you. As they had me, so you shall have me." Slowly, she began to unfasten his shirt.

  Realizing her intention, Alexandre stared at her with startled fascination and loathing. His jaw tightened as she tugged loose his chainse. "I can tell you now, Madame, I would rather be fondled by an asp than a Signe, be she sheathed in the Devil's own charms."

  "You need not fear your new Medusa," Liliane murmured. "She will not turn you into stone, but into another element entirely." Her flaring anger turned to resolution. She would make love to him tonight in the despairing knowledge that it must be for the last time. Knowing he would not take her, she would take him. Past memory of his flesh was upon her mouth, her fingertips, her body. She wanted him so fiercely that she would force him to want her in the same way. No other woman would touch him so. When he touched another woman, he would remember her, with hatred, perhaps, but also as the incarnation of passion ... of love, even if twisted out of recognition. I want him to feel Jacques's and Louis's lie! she railed silently. How may I touch him so and not love him! She traced his ribs until his skin twitched slightly.

  "Ah," she whispered, "the mockery of love. It will torment us both." She moved away and undid the lacings of her bliaud, then slipped the garment over her head. The fine silk of her chainse was nearly transparent by candlelight, its filmy weave lying smoothly over the high porcelain curve of her breasts, the long line of her hips and thighs. She eased loose the lacing between her breasts so that their voluptuous swell was partly revealed, the nipples a rosy shadow beneath the silk. As if Alexandre were not there, she slipped a cloak about her shoulders, then opened the door a crack and murmured something to the guard.

  Alexandre strained to hear, but he caught nothing of the few phrases that passed between Liliane and the guard. He had been unprepared for the heady, immediate sensation he experienced as she disrobed. Her body was so familiar to him, yet now she was another woman, some wicked mistress that he longed to destroy, yet who still fascinated him. He willed his body to show no sign of his interest, but he could not help wondering how long he would be able to keep up his pretense.

  Liliane was ravishing and clever, as well as furious. Caught between anticipation and revulsion, he wondered just how far she would go to crack his control. Had she ordered the guard to bring up a few nasty toys from the torture chamber to ensure his humiliation? Alexandre's mind hardened. He had never been able to look at her without desire, and well she knew it. However, tonight she would lose her little game.

  Liliane wandered to the window as if thinking to herself. Concealing her body, the cloak's heavy scarlet wool served to make the purity of her profile, her paleness by moonlight an ethereal vision, yet the ripeness of her body sang of the earth.

  How irresistible she looks, how easy she was to love, Alexandre thought in sudden anguish. She is the magic of dreams, yet my dreams of her have turned to nightmares. She had cause to hate me for my treatment of her in Acre; for that, I could grant her some desire, for revenge, but no; she contrived my downfall long before she first saw me. Did she know me, that first day we met in the wood? Did she know me then and mark me for cold seduction, only to achieve my destruction? Bittersweet memories swept him with bleak force, and he cursed himself. She has touched me not and already I am tormented!

  Then Liliane turned to him. In her face he saw a mixture of sadness and mockery, whether for him or herself, he could not tell. "Alas, my love, that we are brought to war, where peace was our craving," she said softly. "Cruelly, we wreak havoc with each other and curse our meeting; yet we are joined for good or ill, and only death shall part us."

  She came to him and touched his shoulder as if greeting a friend or bidding him farewell. "I shall counter thee with a woman's weapons. If thou are the victor, I shall not rail against fate, for I will have been vanquished by a man, fully courageous and courteous. To die for such a love is no dishonor; perhaps it is an end to be sought." Her hand dropped lightly to his chest. "Into the fray, my love."

  "Give this up, Liliane," he whispered. "We are finished."

  "Nay." Her fingers trailed caressingly down his flesh. "We have but begun." She went away from him men and sat on the bed. He watched her, wondering what she was going to do. She did nothing except look at him with a brooding, almost detached expression.

  In time, the guard returned. A cowed servant entered with the copper bath, three more with waterpails. One of the servants was Yves, who shot a quick look at his pinioned master, then lowered his head.

  If only someone could get to me and shear these chains, thought Alexandre. Water splashed into the tub and the relief he had felt upon first seeing the tub came over him again; at least Liliane had not ordered up hot coals. The servants departed and they were alone again.

  Then Liliane bathed, her body luminous in the moonlight. First she dropped the woolen cloak, then slipped off the chainse quite naturally, as if he were not there. With a tightening of his groin, he watched her step into the tub and shiver at the water's chill. Her hair was a pale red-gold stream down her back, curving to her buttocks; the vee between her thighs was a beckoning glow.

  She was beautifully feminine, with all a woman's gentle curves. Within her was his child, his immorality, part of his soul. She had taken him inside her and he had loved her unbearably. Even now, he wanted to touch her so much that his fingertips spread beseechingly even as his mind recoiled. All satin sheen was she, ivory and gold . . . witchery, witchery. Pride and lust, thou art man's damnation, and I am the lowest of fools for wanting her yet.

  Liliane looked up, saw his luminous eyes, and her own grew bright, as if candles had been lit within them. She leaned her head back against the curve of the tub and, with a trace of shyness, touched her breasts like a young girl first discovering her blossoming. The peaks glistened, her nipples hardening under her delicately exploring fingers. Alexandre felt a rising heat in his loins and the inevitable swelling of his manhood. His heart was beginning to beat too quickly, the braies that covered him concealing too little now. He tried to concentrate on the manacles chafing at his wrists, twisted his arms to make the irons cut, but with the pain came a heightened awareness of his senses, so quickly inflamed by the cool, naked vision who tempted him with such seeming innocence.

  Under his hot eyes, Liliane rose from
the water; it streamed down her skin in a diamond sheet as she stepped from the tub and walked slowly toward him. Her fingers were cold as she touched his bare skin, growing warmer as she slipped back his chains. Her lips teased his flesh, his sides, his armpits, then trailed to his nipples. He gasped as her tongue, small and pink, tasted him with exquisite delicacy. His nipples hardened and his hands locked upon the chains. "Leave me!" he whispered harshly. "Cut my throat, if you must, but cease this shameless mockery!"

  "I mock thee not," she answered quietly. "I do but love thee." She knelt, and her fingers found the fastening of his braies, loosened the lacing. "Believe, my love . . . believe . . ." she whispered as his maleness swelled free against her burning cheek. Then her soft velvet mouth found him, took him until he cried out in hatred and in love. His fountaining arched in the dim light even as his body arched like a whip. I am my own lash, he thought as the darkness closed about him. She rends me with my own heart's blood.

  That night was like no other they had known. Alexandre wanted Liliane as a burning brand seeks the flesh, but she was elusive, ever beyond his grasp, even as she touched ham intimately, so intimately and completely that no part of him could be kept from her. By dawn, he trembled when she pressed him against her, his exhausted body still like a wire, drawn taut with desire. Her breasts were soft against his loins, and when she kissed his lips, he bit her and drew blood, only to find that blood upon his aching manhood when she made love to him again. Craving burned him, and although the floor beneath them was slippery with his seed, he was unsatisfied. He wanted to bury himself in Liliane like a sword, destroy her as she had him. He wanted to feel her flesh yield in his quick hands, wanted to drive hard and hot within her treacherous, quivering body. Let me have her but for a little time, he screamed silently to whatever devils might listen. Give her to me!